One of the appeals, if not a flat out benefit, of working at an izakaya is learning a completely new palate language.  My palate up until now has been rooted in Western, mainly French, culinary traditions, but it didn’t take long after starting at Biwa to realize Japanese vinegary is different than the French notion.

Learning might not exactly be the word I should use, but rather I’m assimilating to a new palate language. Moreover, I have resisted the temptation to go over-analytical or academic on understanding this new cuisine.  As this is not how anyone learns food. Japanese kids aren’t given a manual explaining how their food should smell and taste; therefore, I want the development of my palate language to be subtle, natural and unforced.  I also resist the temptation to think, “Oh, I got this” or “I understand this right away,” like neophytes to wine often do, mistaking their enthusiasm for experience or discernment.

So what is a palate language? It’s not really about words.  It’s more about picturing in my mind what Japanese cuisine [both food and beverage] feels like, making its essence a matter of fact or second nature as in socialization.  What’s more, I can see why Biwa is so busy. Guests dine at a very reasonable price point in a casual, yet intimate room and experience a new palate language, too.

What I have learned thus far
Pronounced food flavors and subtle drinks: It’s ironic that Japanese food [to a Western palate] should have so many pronounced flavors: salty, fermented, vinegary and soy, while Japanese drinks such as sake are very subtle.  If one looks at wine, the main drink accompaniment to better dining in the Western world, you’ll notice by comparison, it is not very subtle.  With its higher acid framework, wine cuts through flavors and gets noticed.  Or take shochu, the famous distillate of Southern Japan, this is a subtler drink than its Western cousins vodka, rum and gin. Shochu has a lower abv, which quietly presents its flavor profile.

Rice is sticky: The next thing I’ve noticed is the main starch, rice, is way stickier than the starches of Western cuisine [caveat: I’m not talking about starch as a plat principal, but as a condiment]. When enjoying Japanese food with rice, you’re introducing a stickier texture into the mix.  Even when I’m bussing tables, sticky rice is everywhere on the table, on the floor, on my hands and my clothes. It’s easy to see why it’s an integral part life. Overall, texture is very important in understanding Japanese food and drink. There’s palate weight and feel to the cuisine, which I’m just now starting to grasp, and I’m learning the impression of balance is different in Japanese cooking than its impression in Western cuisine.

Slurping is fun: The third thing, I’ve noticed, thus far, is Westerners cannot separate the cuisine from the manner in which it is eaten with chopsticks, and in the case of noodles, slurped. It’s part of the whole dining package and part of the fun. I can’t tell you how happy I am on a night off after having a couple of drinks, coming in to Biwa and slurping down a bowl of Ramen with Anne. And even though I suck at using chopsticks, it just feels right. Additionally, in Eastern cuisine, diners will pick up a bowl of broth and put the rim of the bowl directly on their mouths to eat. That’s awesome, not going to do that at Jean-Georges!

But other than learning a handful of things on Japanese cuisine, I’ve got a long ways to go. Kana has offered me the wine list to manage and curate, which I’m thrilled to do, but I didn’t want to begin until I started getting my palate language down a little. I’ll need to be able to switch back and forth between my refined Western palate and my developing Eastern palate. This is important when serving [mainly Western] guests: to know and recommend, you’d probably still enjoy a glass of wine with your pork belly, but most definitely, you would rather drink sake with saba nanbanzuke.

I’ve started preliminary sake vs. wine comparisons on my nights off. This night, the Bouvier Marsannay’s higher acid was excellent for fattiness of the shio-yaki saba [mackerel], but overly accentuated the salty characteristics of the dish. The sake flight was better suited to the fish.

On another night, I brought in a lower acid Marcel Deiss Pinot Gris. Its sweet framework fared well with some menu items, but again the good everyday sake Otokoyama really hit the mark with the majority of the dishes we ordered. I’m thinking a traditional Rioja Blanco is the next comparison I’ll make. 

Anthony Garcia
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